[She only offers him a knowing grin when she hears him groan, and she won't poke fun at him much more than that. Yuffie had outdone them all, to absolutely no one's surprise, and bragged about it for hours afterwards, but at least he beat Cid who likely would not have let him live it down if he hadn't, and Barret almost broke the machine when he couldn't make it past the first jump, so he was out of the running from the start. He had a leg up over all of them, including Tifa, if only by a small margin at the end when she slipped up and only made herself more flustered.
It's a memory that she can recall as if it had happened only yesterday. After everything that they had been through, it was that night of respite that she looks back on fondly.
Rather than look around the arcade herself, she finds that she's watching Cloud over her shoulder instead, and as his gaze roams around the arcade, she's mesmerized by how the blinking neon lights twinkle to heighten and highlight the green streaks within the blue of his eyes. It's such a small, simple thing, but she's always loved how bright and blue they are, bursting with colour.
It's the nudge to her shoulder that tumbles her back to the entrance of the arcade, and she darts her gaze forward, lips parting in silent surprise when she spots it. The fact that he's taking the initiative to choose one at all is surprising, yes, but it's the warm feeling that spreads from her chest up to rosy her cheeks that gets her most. Elation? Contentment? He's still trying, and she isn't going to waste a second to let him know just how excited she is about it.
Tifa takes the lead again, leading and weaving him through. She only appraises it for a beat before she climbs into the truck-shaped vehicle, and when Cloud joins her, she scoots over towards him. Even if the bench is long enough to comfortably fit at least one more body, she gets comfortable where her knees and shoulders touch his.]
You know how to shoot a gun?
[Picking up the red one, she aims it at the black screen in front of them but shoots her coy look to Cloud.]
Haven't tried myself, so I might need you to show me.
[As if this is anything close to a real one. She knows that they're uncomplicated, made of cheap plastic, but she's going to take this zombie (or is it ghost?) hunting game very seriously, she's decided.]
[ There's a sense of relief when Tifa deems the game acceptable--already his eyes had been hunting around the perimeter of the arcade looking for substitutes, perhaps the moogle story game or even one of the stuffed animal catchers that would likely start to frustrate him after spending too much gil on it. He'd do it for Tifa, of course, and the thought of having a tangible souvenir to take back with her, after the end of their date, something that she would be able to keep on her bed, or on the table beside it, is soothing. It would be something to remember him by, at least, or if she hated it, a good present for Denzel or Marlene, though maybe he should think about getting them something special in the end. A keychain, perhaps, from the haunted hotel? His thoughts are moving so quickly, anxious and nervous and determined to focus on anything--he hardly recognizes that he's being pulled towards the game he'd pointed out himself.
With a glance, he looks at the interior of the game console, hidden behind a half of a curtain; Tifa ducks inside and makes herself comfortable, and warily, he follows in after her.
The bench is wide, surely comfortable enough for two people, but Tifa's hip presses up against his, the line of her leg mapped out with the line of his own, and when their knees touch, he feels his stomach flip, a strange, nervous churning that makes him want to move away. Any other time, and he would--it's polite to have space between them, but more than that, he wants Tifa to be comfortable, yet something in him says that it would be stupid to move away, and he doesn't. Their legs rub together and he looks at the screen, reading the game title with a face that says it's absolutely absurd: Midgar Mako Monsters, with some opening introduction video of strange oozing zombie-creatures, all in dated SOLDIER garb. His eyes roll over to Tifa.
There's a faint, tight-lipped smile on his face: ] They taught us all how to use them. At least I think they did. Back in Third Class.
[ His memories of that time are still--hazy, but ridiculously, his body knows what to do. He palms up the blue gun and tilts it in Tifa's direction, smoothing one of his fingers along the top of it to show her where the sight is. ]
Just try to line this up the best you can, and keep your hand steady. [ Surprisingly, there's a bit of amusement in his voice, as he tilts his head towards her, the end of his gun knocking almost playfully with hers. ] Luckily there's no kickback on the plastic models.
[ One of his hands goes down, feeling for the coin slot in front of them--then it's just a matter of paying for the both of them, and the game screen comes to life; the bench vibrates, a blast of cool air and loud, overbearing horror music coming from the devices above them in the console. There appears to be some sort of 'story' to the game, however silly--something about the mako reactors leaking into the piping of the Shinra building, infecting all the SOLDIERs there and turning them into zombie-like creatures; surprisingly, it doesn't bother him. It's not like he doesn't know what the mako makes him, anyway, and something like this--well, it isn't too far from what had happened anyway, in the end.
Still, Tifa will likely worry--he offers her a faint, sidelong smile. ]
[Tifa studies him, watches as his fingers coil around the gun, and she mimics his instructions and movements one by one. Finger on the trigger, lifting to aim—she probably has horrendous trigger discipline, never having held one in her life, and while it is just a silly game with sillier plastic guns that could break if she held them too tight, the idea of impressing and surprising Cloud with even a grain of skill in this game is what motivates her. Not that she has anything left to prove to him, but she'll do whatever she can to get one of those cheeky grins out of him. And as she lets the back of her hand graze his when he bumps the ends of their guns together, she's thankful for the washed-out colours on the screen as the game whirrs to life that mask the redness blossoming across her cheeks.
Diligently, she tries to listen to the speech, to the voice that sounds like it's trying too hard to be like the late President Shinra's, as he explains the purpose of the game. It's almost immediate, that twisting in her stomach; that sinking feeling that maybe this is a bad idea when it goes on about the mako leaks, and it transforming the people inside into "monsters". Just as he imagined it would, it hits a close to home that Tifa does worry, but when she casts that inevitable sideways glance of concern to Cloud, she sees that smile of his—although faint, it's still as bright as ever in her eyes—and it puts her at ease.
Once again, he proves how patient and how willing he is.
So, she lifts the barrel of the gun to eye level on his go, and as the truck's engine roars in the speakers surrounding them, the truck jerks, and it sends her reeling back on the bench, surprised, as it spits them out on the streets of Midgar—or what used to be Midgar—with Shinra's tower as the backdrop. Sirens blare, and spotlights bear down on the city as its low-poly citizens scream and run in that stiff way old video games tend to do as they run for their lives.
She can already feel her heartbeat quicken with anxiety and anticipation. Tifa is, admittedly, a bit of a scaredy-cat when it comes to the horror genre, jump-scares especially. Cloud will feel her move an inch closer, with the tension coiling up in every one of her muscles, with her knuckles turning white under her hold on the gun's grip.
It should have been expected. She should have seen it coming. Their very first zombie leaps out in front of the screen with a hiss with a speed uncharacteristic for being dead, and rather than shoot it, Tifa's shriek echoes through the console, and a hand drops from the gun to grab onto Cloud instead.]
[ The introduction had been loud enough, but now, here, as it begins to introduce them to the actual gameplay, he feels like it's so noisy he won't even be able to hear Tifa talk over it--his stomach twists a little in discomfort, as though maybe this is a bad idea, the kind of stupid thing that only a stupid guy would ask a girl to play with him if he didn't know any better. He should have aimed for something lighter, like winning her a toy out of one of the crane games or even those motorcycle racing games that would likely be boring for the both of them; or maybe he's speaking too soon? It's not like Tifa has had too many chances to ride on the back of Fenrir, after all, mostly because he's been too embarrassed to have her pressed up against him--mostly because he'd been worried that she might touch his arm in the wrong spot and feel him wince. She might get a kick out of being able to race him on one of those, so why had he picked this one?
The monsters don't bother him, and admitting to himself that he nearly became exactly like the things that slither across the screen in the opening video just makes him shake his head. As always, it's easy enough to compartmentalize when he has other things to worry about; in fact, it's the sight of Midgar and the Shinra building that affects him more than the comparison of mako-zombies to the mako-drenched SOLDIERs that Shinra made themselves. It's been a long time: mostly those images live only in his memory, knitted together with all of their travels and the faces of all of their friends, and sometimes, looking at Edge, it feels like some sort of uncanny half-hearted reproduction, as though bits and pieces of Midgar remain, but twisted and changed out of proportion.
He's distracted enough that he doesn't realize how close Tifa is, and when the game finally gives up the ghost and a zombie leaps into the corner of the screen, he aims his plastic gun at it--but Tifa collides with him, shrieking, and he's distracted. There's the sound of its wailing call as it hits both sides of their screen; the health meters in the corner go down.
With an almost laugh, cursing under his breath, Cloud shoots at one zombie--and then the next one. Carefully, and wordlessly, he wraps his arm across Tifa's shoulders, pulling her in succinctly to his side. ]
Don't think I can take them all out alone. [ --is he actually making a joke? It feels like in the relative darkness of the little cabin of the game, he's capable of things that would otherwise make him cringe out in the daylight. Protecting Tifa is something that comes so naturally that he hardly thinks on it; keeping an arm around her to hold her out of danger is practically instinct. ] We've got this. Grab your gun.
[They have a breather as the car continues to move through the pixelated streets of Midgar, and when she hears his voice, feels his arm pulling her to his side, Tifa musters up the courage to blink a single eye open to peek at the screen. She isn't afraid of them, per se—she's seen worse inside the basement labs of Shinra's headquarters, but when they're leaping at them in first-person view like that, she has a harder time not being so jumpy and on edge.
But the encouragement and patience in Cloud's voice still leaves her wanting to try harder, and as long as she's tucked away safe under his arm, there really is nothing to be scared of, is there? It's only a game, and she never did let him go into a fight alone if she could help it.]
You're right. [She turns to give him an appreciative, lopsided smile.] We've got this.
[So, it's with a new fire of conviction in her eyes, as if this were a real battle against real zombies, Tifa picks up her gun and holds it tight. There are still those flickers of fear behind those flames, and he'll feel her body stiffen every time the car rounds a corner in preparation for the next jump scare, the plastic of the gun cracking under the weight of her grip when she readjusts her fingers to shoot, and then the deflating that tension away when there's nothing there. They chug along that way for a little while, until...
She can hear the low groans coming from the speaker, and just as the box jerks—]
To the left!?
[Tifa raises the gun and pulls the trigger again, and again, and again... Managing to nail one of the three zombies that leap at them in the face. And when she tries again, it clicks.]
Huh? Out of bullets!? [This is supposed to be a horror fantasy game! Why in Ifrit's Infernal Balls is there a limit on bullets?] How do I—oh.
[She claps her hand against the bottom of the toy gun and with a loud click, she's given fifty more.]
[ But she doesn't need the explanation, does she? The toy gun clicks and a new round is deposited onto the screen, and where Cloud had been reaching over with his good hand to help her, he moves away. The unfortunate byproduct, of course, is that with one arm around Tifa's shoulder, and the other hand reaching to help her, it leaves them woefully underprepared for the attack. He should know better--and he does know better, but somehow the urge to help Tifa always knocks his thoughts into a different sort of spiral. His priorities get mixed up in his head, when Tifa is involved; with a playful curse, he aims his gun back at the screen.
It doesn't seem to matter. The zombie lashes out at his side of the screen, despite Tifa's reload, and the hits double up on each other, staggering his health bar down. Somewhere amidst the dangerous, glowing red, he fires off a few shots; they take that one down, but two more appear, larger and more fierce than the others. It's some kind of 'boss fight', he thinks, a term he's only heard in passing from Denzel after time spent admiring the broken arcade games they'd managed to scrounge pieces of from the old Seventh Heaven. He takes another hit, and the screen flashes at him: YOU'RE DEAD! INSERT COIN!
A curse makes it past his lips again, half-frustrated, half-embarrassed. How could he let himself get taken down so easily? Granted, it's not like these games really rely on too much skill, but shouldn't he know better? And what is he supposed to do now? (What would Zack do?)
His gaze, nervous, flickers to Tifa--and then he relaxes against the back of the game seat, his head tilted to the side towards Tifa's shoulder as though lifeless. ]
... It's all you. [ --is what he says, mumbled, from lips that are supposed to be 'dead'. This works, right? Maybe she'll laugh? He hopes she'll laugh. ]
[There might have been any number of tiny shrieks buried into his shoulder when Tifa turned from the screen and blindly shot and wasted every single one of those bullets that she had just reloaded into her gun. The box jerks to a halt, knocking them both gently around again, and when she blinks her eyes open, all she sees is the flashing red "YOU'RE DEAD" on Cloud's side of the screen that makes her heart and stomach sink.]
Wait—
[He gives her little time to respond besides that when his head practically flops over onto her shoulder, and once the initial sting of that shock and confusion finally dulls, she realizes what's going on. Her teeth bite down on her lip to stifle a laugh, and it comes as an amused, very unladylike snort. She has half a mind to punch him in the arm and tell him to get up and try again, but there's no fun in not playing along. Or harm.
She gives him a small, light nudge on his shoulder, and she utters to him with as much bravado and drama she can muster through the adrenaline that's still pumping through her.]
Captain? Captain!? Noooo...
[Her head falls against him with peals of amused giggles, not quite registering how threateningly close she is to him until she's already red in the face and she can note how warm he is—]
I'll avenge you. Promise.
[She's forced to square her shoulders when the game reloads at the checkpoint before the "boss fight" that had taken all of Cloud's little hearts in the corner of the screen, with a newfound fire in her eyes again as she reloads the gun with so much gusto that she worries that she might have broken it. But if it's all up to her to win this—whatever "this" is—then she isn't about to let him down. Not Cloud.
However, when the monster leaps onto the screen again—she really should have expected it the second time around—that gusto is quick to dissipate, shot into the wind as she violently pulls the trigger after another startled yelp. Her body tenses up again, messing with her ability to aim, and she shoots and shoots until she's fresh out of bullets. The box wobbles violently again, and—
"YOU'RE DEAD! INSERT COIN!"
Tifa immediately deflates under Cloud's arm, and from between her knees, it spits out a small string of consolation tickets with an inappropriately happy jingle.]
Man... down...
[Her head falls against his shoulder and the gun clatters to the floor.]
[ Since when am I the Captain... he wants to say, his lips pressed together, and for a moment, a long moment, he wars with opening his mouth and teasing her, and saying nothing at all; like always, the opportunity passes him by while he's debating what to do, and so he stays the way he should, lifeless and unmoving against her shoulder. Beyond the weight of his lashes, he can hear the game continuing on around them, the seat beneath them rumbling and the bullets firing off with loud, noisy fanfare--and he's surprised, then realizes he shouldn't be. Tifa has always been this way, hasn't she? Always determined, always wanting to do her best, and he thinks that, at times, he's been the person pulling her away from that, the person letting her down.
At least like this, he isn't really weighting her anything at all, is he? She's managing to do so well, well enough that he peeks one eye open to look at the screen--
--but the game gets the best of both of them, and he sees the lettering flash across the screen as the seat rumbles and then falls still; he tries not to smile, but Tifa slumps down against him and then it's like their heads are nearly touching, and he only realizes in that moment that his arm is still stretched out across her shoulders, cradling her in close. A part of him is acutely, terrifyingly, aware of his own breath, of the tickle of his unruly bangs near her forehead, and the beat of her breath, warm and light against him.
It's another moment where he knows he has to do something, he just can't quite figure out what would be best. There could be other people waiting for the game, after all, and if he carries Tifa's seemingly lifeless body out of the console, well, that would raise all sorts of questions.
With a chuckle, he swallows, tilting his head closer so that he can nudge the bridge of his nose along her forehead, bumping down against the tip of her nose with a gentle push. ]
Guess we're monsters now, too. [ His voice is a low, private murmur, with their heads so close. ] I'm guessing this isn't the sort of thing that...
[ A short clearing of his throat, embarrassed. ] ...that a kiss would fix, is it.
[As the box's rumbling comes to an end and the game returns to its default "INSERT COIN" screen, Tifa has half a mind to sit up and declare a "just kidding!" or something equally as spirited, but when she feels his hair tickling her forehead, and how his low laugh rumbles as deep as her bones, her entire body stiffens—only briefly—at the closeness before her body instinctively relaxes on his.
There's a sharp edge to her breaths now, and the heat of it blending with his is almost unbearable when he closes in on her like that. She wants, so badly, to open her eyes and look at him, but there's something that compels her to keep them shut. It's not fear or embarrassment, but maybe a twinge of hope that if she remains perfectly still, she can draw out this familiar flutter in her chest for as long as possible.
But then he says those words, and she shifts, her lips parting ever so slightly in a subtle search for air.
A kiss...
It wouldn't be the most terrifying thing. They've shared lingering kisses on the cheek before, and had dared come a little too close any countless number of times, but it was never anything that they would dare utter out loud. They would never talk about it, but she's sure that they've thought about it each time her lips would brush with purpose against the corners of his only for her to pull back before either could act further on it.]
Huh...?
[She doesn't even register that she's mumbled it out loud, her brain slowly cranking to process it all. The sound of the game turns into background noise, muffled and distant and blending into everything else as her focus zeroes in on his breathing, and on her racing heartbeat when he bumps his nose affectionately on hers. It's only then that her eyes flutter open, her lashes sweeping over his cheeks.]
Doesn't hurt to try.
[Her voice is almost completely winded, light and breathless and nervous. She's tried to make it playful to match him, but she feels embarrassed at how strained with longing it sounded instead, and all of that mixed in with the fact that this is all because of an arcade game that's still chiming and roaring in the background...? She can't say this is how she imagined it would go, but then again, it was never about the how or where.
In spite of it all, Tifa finds that she leans in partway, only pausing to gasp when she feels the tingle of her lips brushing so lightly against his that she isn't sure they touched at all. But she has to pull back so that she can search his expression—find any sign that this is truly what he wants. That it wasn't just a silly joke that she fell for...
She gets so lost in searching through those deep blue pools that she hardly processes the voices coming from outside the box.]
[ It's one of those subjects that has always felt like something he shouldn't breach. After all, as kind and as delicate as Tifa might be, at times, and as much as he wishes he could be the kind of strength to protect her, she's probably imagined kisses like this in a more romantic setting, and more than that, has probably had boys kiss her already, clumsy but well-meaning or even dashing and strong. The years they spent apart, while he struggled to find a place for himself, to make a name for himself, to try to impress her--surely something must have happened then, right? One of the boys she used to spend time with back home, or even a handsome regular at the bar?
Even sleeping in the same room, beds apart, listening to the soft sound of her breath as the only thing to tempt him into sleep, at times: he's never had the gall to grab her around the waist, sweep her up and kiss her, like she deserves. Instead it's always been clumsy, foolish things, small kisses to the cheek or just brushing in close when he shouldn't have.
This, too, probably isn't a place that he should have proposed such a thing, but it's out of his mouth already and there's nothing that he can really do about it. As she tips her head in, his eyes fall shut, forced shut, knowing better than to stay staring at her while she comes closer. The touch of her lips against his is so soft he almost feels like he's imagining it; when he tilts his head in, slightly, he can feel their mouths connect, a warm brush that sends an electric bolt of nervous, attracted energy down to his toes.
It's there and gone again--when she pulls back, his eyes force open again, and he's left staring at her, awkward and silent.
Right. The game. There's someone politely knocking on the side of the game console, outside, and with a sheepish, throaty laugh, he shakes his head. ]
Too good to be true, huh. [ Being able to hide in that dark space, alone, that is. ] Come on. Let's go be undead monsters.
[ With the arm around her shoulders, he slides back, touching gently at her waist as though to help her down and out of the game ahead of him, following shortly after. The teenagers waiting there watch them, one of them elbowing the other; whispers of aren't those mako eyes uttered between them. Cloud puts his arm around Tifa's back, guiding her further away before she has time to hear it--and pity him.
With a faint smile, he nods towards the rest of the arcade. ] What next? Want a stuffed animal? They have those claw machines.
[It's as if her mind has drifted off elsewhere that when he suggests they leave, all she can manage is a small "yeah" in agreement before allowing him to whisk her away. From the moment she felt that spark when their lips brushed to when he's directing her out of the game booth, she's not quite sure what happens in between. She hears the whispers of the kids, but their words turn to distorted murmurs the moment they hit her ears, and the hand that guides her feels like it could burn right through her skin.
It's his next question that pulls Tifa free, along with the whirring of a machine as they pass it by, as if it's trying to get her attention with its dinging and blinking lights, but she turns to Cloud as if she'd just been woken by a sudden noise or worse, a splash of ice-cold water over her. And even then, all she can think about is the blissful three seconds they shared in the booth.
Her eyes dart to his lips, and she only just barely registers that he's asking her a question before—]
Cloud...
[His name spills ruefully out of her in that "really?" pitch, before she can stop it, and it winds her, her breath catching as her heart leaps up into her throat. After all that...
Slowly, her head turns to the claw game he's gestured to, and everything finally comes into focus. A gradual smile blossoms on her face, and she bites down on her lip. Several seconds of silence follows as Tifa tries to center herself again, and as disappointed as she is that the moment was pulled right out from under her feet, Cloud is still trying his best to help ease that wire of tension that she feels is about ready to snap. They'll just have to find another opportunity.
He'll feel her shoulders rise and fall in a sigh before she twirls back to him.]
Actually... I hear the gondolas are up and running again...
[After Meteorfall, the Gold Saucer had shut down for not only repairs, but improvements, and from what she read in the papers after their grand reopening, they were still the talk of the place.]
[ The whole trip has been something of an exercise for his memory, a muscle that he feels has been stretched out and exaggerated into so many ridiculous angles over the years that at times, it feels hard to trust it. There are things that he knows he didn't experience and yet come to him like vivid photographs, as though he's snapshotted so many scenarios from Zack's stories that they feel as real as if he'd been there to live them. There are things that he knows are true, that are pictures from his own eyes, instead of through the lens of a mental camera--things like coming back to Midgar, to his mercenary jobs and everything that tumbled in after that. The gondolas, of course, are one of those many things he knows weren't a dream: he'd been there, and Tifa had been there, that night, looking out at all the colors wondering how much further their lives would change.
And what does he have to show, really, for the amount of time that's passed? The world has certainly changed, and its people have changed, and maybe, in some small ways, he's changed, too: there are people that he might call his friends, now, and there's a life that he's supposed to living, a business that's thriving in the era of reconstruction, where everyone needs goods delivered, and a beautiful girl who sleeps in the same room with him and looks at him over the counter of the bar and smiles like she means it, like everything can be okay someday, and he doesn't know whether that's a lie he wants to believe in or something that he needs to cut off before he hurts her.
But when they'd rode the gondola, there hadn't really been any of that fear, and there hadn't been that desire to rip himself out of Tifa's life just to make sure that she would keep on living, safe and sound, without him there to mess things up. It had been exciting to be along with her, despite everything--and maybe that's something they can get back. A moment of privacy, a moment without anyone else interrupting--he swallows, gives a short nod, and slides his arm down, keeping just a careful hand at the back of her waist as though to pull her out of harm's way should anything cross their path. ]
Let's do that, then. Sounds like a nice way to round out the evening.
[ Even in the reconstruction, there are still so many colorful, bold signs pointing this way and that, instructing guests how to get to all the different places in the Gold Saucer; it doesn't take much to lead Tifa out from the bustling lights and constant sounds of the arcade, ducking through the doorway to put them outside again, on a path to head up to where the gondola ride begins. It's not too long of a walk, really, but his gaze travels down the length of her before he realizes he's being rude--and he clears his throat, nodding ahead of them, this time. ]
...Let me know if you want me to carry you the rest of the way. [ It's teasing: she's not that weak, and has way more practice in heels than he does; but he thinks maybe, this might crack a smile out of her, and his eyes stay resolutely focused on the path ahead of them. ] Like if your feet hurt, I mean.
[He's right. It does crack the smallest, most diffident smile across her lips as she walks a little closer to his side, allowing his hand to guide her to him.]
Only if my feet hurt?
[She playfully retorts back, but like him, Tifa keeps her eyes trained elsewhere, as if she were trying to take in every little detail of the scenery as she can as they cross through the main hall of the Gold Saucer when really, she's simply trying her best to keep them from him. From landing for too long on his lips or making eye contact with him when she wouldn't know what to do with herself when she did.
But is it so strange that, after everything, the thought of it sends a tingle up her spine? So strange that she can't look him in the eye because she can feel her cheeks heating with colour again? Her feet aren't bothering her and likely never will, but the idea of being scooped up into Cloud's arms and carried off into the gondola, or back to their room is...
Tifa is quick to cut the thought off with a sharp sigh, lest she get too carried away and her imagination runs from her again.]
I'll keep that in mind, [she finally says, not so cleverly, but with a light, nervous tremble to her voice.
Fortunately, the walk to the gondola isn't long, but throughout, she can sense the buzz that lingers—or it could just be that she's the one imagining it on her own as she lets her arm slip around him, her fingers blindly searching for his until they only just barely brush over them. But as they walk among so many other couples, she wonders what it might be like to snatch it and take it in hers instead, just as she sees the girl in front of them do that very same thing, and so naturally, too.
Do the others think of Cloud and Tifa as another pair just like them, she wonders? Do they look like they could be, while all of them remain clueless to the violent flutters of nervous energy that's eating away at Tifa from the inside? Clueless to how, in spite of how she's tucked so comfortably beneath his arm, she has no idea what else to say or do right now.
Which is why it's both a relief and a surprise when they reach the gondolas to find the lineup nearly non-existent. They're moving through people quickly, getting new riders off and then on before the next rolls along. He may feel her stiffen at his side when they reach the attendant, and it's as if all of the blinking lights and the sounds have been turned up to ten as her nerves light up and her stomach does a dozen and some somersaults.
She always prided herself in being comfortable. Confident. Sure. But as the door slides open, she finds herself inconceivably nervous that she suddenly blurts out:]
[ And there's a part of him that's almost, alarmingly, on exactly the same wavelength as she is, once they're finally up the hill and into the queue for the ride, comparing them to the other couples in line. Tifa's fingers brush nervously against his but they don't quite make it to taking his hand; his own arm is stiff around her, careful and sure, as though more seeking the desire to protect her than anything else. To him, that's always been the most important thing: no matter his feelings, no matter his yearning, no matter how he thinks of her in his head or the things that he's always wanted to do with her, keeping her safe, alive, has always been at the forefront. Tifa could find happiness with any other man and he wouldn't interfere--as long as she were safe. Part of that is the fault of their own adventures: there hadn't been time to consider much romance on their trek to save the Planet, but more than that, the loss of Aerith had scared him into doing anything else. What if he messed up again, and this time, Tifa paid her life for it? How could he live with himself then?
In some ways, too, he almost resents the couples around them, the ones cozying up while the line moves, the ones that kiss each other's cheeks like it means nothing, touch each other like they've never had much of a worry in the world, like they haven't had to pay for this crumbling sense of peace with their own blood and tears--but he shouldn't. They saved the world so that things like this could happen: so that people could still live their lives to the fullest. He should be doing that too, shouldn't he?
The guy with his girlfriend, two couples up, slips his hand down from around her waist and grabs, lightly, at the back of her skirt--embarrassed, Cloud skirts his gaze away.
Maybe he shouldn't be that bold. Maybe--maybe not like that yet.
Disgruntled, he urges Tifa a little closer to his side, almost protective; still, they make short work of the line, and sooner than he realizes, they're up next. Tifa feels so nervous, almost trembling with it, and when the doors open, she urges him to go in first. He only has a split second to react--they have to get inside quickly, otherwise the gondola will likely continue on without them--and rather than duck his head in, embarrassed, like he wants to, he loops both arms around Tifa's waist and lifts her off her feet, stepping forward.
Breathless, he plants her down inside the gondola--the staff member shuts the door after him, and with a little jerk, the cabin starts to move. Did he really do that? Did he really--he's still doing it, isn't he?
He hasn't pulled his arms back; Tifa is so close that he can see the eyeshadow spread on her lids, the wet purse of her lips, the slight flutter of her lashes, and he swallows, letting out a wry, choked sort of chuckle. ]
[Just like with the carousel, there's a little squeak of surprise when she feels her feet leave the ground. Her hands seek purchase to steady herself once her heels are placed on the floor of the gondola, and she's grabbing the cotton of his shirt in her fists as if afraid she might tumble out of the window if she lets go. Tifa isn't given any time to collect herself before the attendant shuts the door and the ride lurches into motion. She falls flush against him, her mind too dazed by how sturdy he is for her brain to send signals to the rest of her body to move...
It's his grin and his smooth laugh that vibrates through her bones that draws her mind back to Cloud, and into the gondola before it can stray too far again. She blinks in a stunned silence, before she registers his question and her gaze drifts to the small one-seater behind him, trying not to focus too hard on how his chuckle tickles the skin on her cheek or how his arms remain circled around her waist.]
Yeah... I think so.
[Her own voice quivers with that same nervous energy that she's been harbouring since they kissed briefly inside that arcade game compartment. It's like an electrical storm that's been stirring, brewing slowly as they made their way across the Gold Saucer from the arcade to the gondolas. The ripples of warmth that radiated off him, the twitch of the muscles in his fingers against her hip, his sharp breaths that somehow found their way to her ears, the way the green rings of mako in his eyes shimmered whenever they connected with hers—each one fed into it until finally, it was ready to burst and scatter across the skies.
Tifa can feel herself growing hot as she carefully—and slowly—slides away from him to take the seat. Her fingers curl over the edges of the cushioned walnut bench, her perfectly manicured nails going almost white as they dig into the wood where all that anxious energy is being funneled to. Briefly, she glances out the window to gather herself, closing her eyes to take in a breath through her nose. When she opens them, they journey up the entire length of Cloud's body before her gaze rests on his through her dark lashes, and her face flushes with new colour.]
Sit with me?
[The bench is only made for one, meant for those riding the gondola to sit across from each other, likely for easier conversation, but she doesn't want that. Not like last time, when there had been such a vast rift between them, both physically and emotionally, that she hasn't forgotten since.
Tonight, she wants to be close, and she's made some space next to her as she squeezes up near the window.]
[ It's not like he'd expected a different answer, and yet it's hard to let her go--his arms go stiff for a moment, worried, before he relents, careful not to withdraw too quickly as she finds her way to the one-person bench. Moving while the gondola is already in motion feels a little unsafe, despite knowing very well that nothing could happen to either of them that he wouldn't be able to prevent; still, he watches her, careful, until she settles in her seat, closes her eyes and seems to take a deep breath, like she's considering something, or like her thoughts are moving too fast. For a split second, he wonders if he's gone too far: perhaps the kiss back in the arcade had been enough, perhaps the carousel had been enough, perhaps he shouldn't keep pushing his luck with a girl that he doesn't really deserve?
When she looks back up at him again, he meets her gaze briefly, before looking out the window: already, the lights of the other rides and sections of the Gold Saucer are coming into focus, glorious and glittering around the windows, and he can remember the sights from their last ride, and feeling overwhelmed in just the same way. Nibelheim had never been this bright, and even Midgar had more of an eerie glow to it than this--vibrant colors, twinkling lights, music and sounds fading in and out from the events below them. It feels surreal in a way, surreal in the same way that Tifa asks him to sit next to her and he glances, surprised, to the other empty bench.
Last time they had ridden, they had sat across from each other--as intended. Tonguing at the inside of his cheek, he barely has to question it; he nods, slightly, and shifts slowly so that he can ease himself onto the bench next to her. To take up less space, he turns more onto his side, one arm stretching out along the back of the bench, behind her shoulders, while the other hand falls into his lap. ]
...It feels sort of like an alien world, doesn't it? [ He says it after a long moment, looking past Tifa's profile to the lights and sights beyond the window; there's a faint smile, there and gone again, before he looks at her again. ] With the way things went... I never really thought I'd see something like this again.
[ But that's the resilience of all the people, isn't it? The way that everyone managed to bounce back from tragedy: everyone, except him. ]
How do you...feel? [ They're so close that he can feel how warm Tifa is, against his side; part of him wants to reach for her hand, but instead, his own ends up brushed near one of her knees, touching it lightly as though in reassurance. ] Being back here, I mean. It's...nice?
[His questions take her by surprise and her eyes, wide and round and fiery red, dart from the window to his hand then, at last, to his face where they soften to something fonder and more appreciative. He tries for her so much, even when he doesn't have to at all...
It gives her pause, and Tifa's lips press together. It's crazy to think how life-changing events can skew one's sense of time. He brings it up, and it takes Tifa back again to all those years ago. The memory itself is still as clear and vivid in her head as if it were just yesterday they sat in a gondola just like this, and the colours of the fireworks splashed across his face and highlighted the green rings of mako in his eyes, and Tifa stumbled over what she wished were a confession back then... How different would things be if they'd gone differently...?]
... A little strange.
[With the finality in her tone, it sounds as if that's the end of her thought, but she takes in a deep, steadying inhale and lets her eyes drift back to the window, out to the lights that are gradually becoming twinkling specks below as they make the climb higher.]
But I'm feeling... really good right now. [Even if the awkward friction that's buzzing inside her and around them continues to claw at her nerves.] Better than I've been in a while.
[And it isn't just because knowing that all of this was rebuilt by the hands of those too resilient and too strong to succumb to the despair that settled over Gaia after Meteor—although yes, that certainly plays some part in the fluttery feeling in her heart—it's so much bigger than that. For her tiny, frail soul, that is. Her hand finds his knee in turn and slowly, it moves up an inch where she gives his leg a light squeeze, her face growing redder.]
Still doesn't feel like it was that long ago, though.
[A breathy laugh frees itself, and Tifa wishes it would take some of that tension in her shoulders with it.
The last time they were together, alone like this was that night beneath the Highwind, but they still had the fate of the world resting over their heads, but not anymore, and the fond memory has her leaning towards him, her body unconsciously seeking warmth.]
It is little more crowded than I was expecting, but... I don't mind this kind. Guess a lot of people had the same idea.
[There sure were plenty of couples to look at down below.]
[ It's embarrassing, really, how easily his body reacts to her, how something as simple as a hand on his thigh means that all the muscles in it contract, tensing and twitching up through the rest of him until it settles in his stomach. He's used to the flutters, being around Tifa, but this feels like something different: different from sleeping under the stars with her, when they'd been on their bid to save the world, different from slumping over onto each other in exhaustion on the Highwind, or tucked together in an inn room too small for them and the rest of their crew. Her warmth bleeds in against his side and robs him of the will to say anything; too many words, and Tifa might move away.
His hand, twitching, grips over the seat of the gondola. She's trying so hard, too, and he should at least be meeting her halfway, shouldn't he? Forcing himself to talk is one thing, something that he hasn't done in such a long time, with the way their lives have turned out; being physically present with her is something else entirely. Usually he's a half a world away, trapped in his own memories, too subdued to really force himself to recognize what's happening around him.
His fingers curl into a fist and then, patient, flex back out again, before he lets his arm slide down.
There isn't much room there, between Tifa's back and the back of the seat, so it's awkward, but when his fingers ghost against her slender waist, he knows he's done something, finally, put some effort forward into it all; with a careful squeeze, he encourages her in closer to his side, keeping his eyes trained pointedly on the lights and sights outside. He doesn't want to look at her expression; he isn't sure what he'd find there. ]
...A good date spot. Or whatever.
[ He's trying, okay.
His lips curl up, deprecating and almost playful, but he finally wills himself to look down at her: ]
Better than trying to take a girl out to her own bar. Guess I could stand to learn a few things. [ And then, looking away just as quick-- ] For the next date, anyway.
[Tifa feels his hand shift and she moves—only slightly—to allow him some space. To silently encourage him to reach out to her the way she's been wishing he would for... years. Since the day of their reunion on that train platform one fateful, rainy night. Since that night at the water tower in a faded memory, when she had looked at him and realized in that moment what she wanted. Almost ten years is a long time, and even now, she has to recall how to breathe when his fingers squeeze her hip.
It could be instinct that makes her slide closer—as close as she can get without pressing him right up against the side of the gondola, but close enough that she feels his warmth immediately wrap around to envelop her, a wave of heat descending over her skin with it. It's such a small, cramped space made even tinier by their closeness, and she swears that if she isn't careful, she might just spontaneously combust on the spot.
Tifa lets her eyes move to sneak a glance at him as he keeps his own out the window, and it isn't until he speaks that she remembers she's staring, or that her thumb is digging into the inner side of his leg, and she tries to pull her gaze away in time, but he's already looking at her. The pulsing rings of green in his eyes and that crooked, boyish smile of his captures Tifa, holds her captive until he steals them away again, leaving her to flutter her lashes up at him in surprise at what he has to say.]
... Next date?
[As if this is brand new news to her, which shouldn't be surprising given the direction this one seems to be going in, but it's hard to mask it, even as that initial surprise fades into a smile.]
What sort of spots do you have in mind? [Quickly, she adds:] I wouldn't say no to Seventh Heaven, you know.
[Cloud could take her anywhere and she's sure that she would be just as happy, but she doesn't think a night in would be so bad, either.]
[ Tifa's fingers are pressing so hard into his leg that he wonders, briefly, if he said something that he shouldn't have--she sounds so surprised, repeating his words back at him, that he's forced to look at them, examine them as though worried he might have actually spoken out of turn. In some ways, maybe it isn't fair of him to assume that he would get another shot at this: maybe it isn't fair for him to declare himself a spot in her schedule, to elbow his way further into her life when all he's done so far by being a part of it is let her down. But she's been so keen to keep going, so kind to him the whole night, that he thinks maybe it's okay, at least this time--maybe, even if it's just for his sake, she's willing to go along with it.
There's a faint swallow, his throat bobbing with it, but faced with the questions, he isn't sure what to say. There had been plenty of places he'd seen, in their travels, thinking idly that being alone with Tifa at them, instead of surrounded by their friends, would have made for a good time; there had been beautiful places, quiet places, places that he'd seen Tifa smile at that he thinks maybe she would have enjoyed, too. There are, of course, places that he'll never return to, and places that he knows she'd never ask him to: he isn't particularly keen about returning to Mideel so soon, and of course, places that remind him of the Ancients are out of the question, no matter their lonely beauty.
So, it's with a faint, heartful sort of chuckle that he admits: ] I'd just like somewhere we can be alone, I think.
[ And that might be too much for a second date, and that might be admitting too much; wistfully, his gaze continues to focus on the lights past the window, wondering. ]
Especially if...If we can't find a way to... [ It's not the sort of thing to talk about on a date, no matter the validity--he swallows again, finds his hand is gripping Tifa's side just as much as her hand clutched at his leg. ] I want to take you somewhere you don't...feel like you have to work, too.
[ There's a hint of humor in his voice. ] But if you want it to be Seventh Heaven, then you're going to have to let me be the one behind the bar.
[She can see the gears turning in his head, and the cords in his neck strain when he swallows past his thoughts. Years spent at his side, Tifa knows when he's walking himself through something and working to come up with what to say to her—he's done it countless times tonight alone. She never quite understood why he does it; there's nothing he could say that would upset her, but Tifa never questions it. She's patient, as always, and waits for him to sort it out.
And when he finally does, her heart soars, leaping up into her throat until she feels she might accidentally spit out any one of the hundreds of butterflies that are sent into a frenzy in the pit of her stomach. Immediately, she recalls the last night they had been alone together, up north when she had insisted she join him on a delivery just so she could spend more time with him. She missed him, and deep down somewhere in the depths of her desires, she hoped it would turn into a "date", but it never felt that way. It was just another job still, and Tifa was there for the ride.
This, on the other hand...
She draws herself out of that with a sharp intake of breath, and a different sort of flush in her face as she echoes his laugh.]
Think you got what it takes, huh? Remind me to put you to the test anyway.
[Regardless of what they call it, and honestly? Even if it weren't a date, she's eager now to see what Cloud could do behind the bar. What he's learned from her over the years of running the place together. She tries to imagine it, and it stirs a heartfelt giggle from her that she buries behind a hand and her hair as it tumbles over across her shoulder and in front of her face.
It dies away, fades into a sigh again, and the rubies in her eyes glimmer with newly sparked anticipation as they look around at the four walls of the gondola that surround them, and as she listens to the distant noises of the Gold Saucer below.
Alone... Is that really what he wants?
Eventually, her eyes will connect with his again as they wander back, but she can't quite bring herself to look directly into them as she shifts in the seat at his side.]
[ There's a distinct memory he has, sitting alone in the bar, back where it had been originally--before the tragedy of the plate fall, before any of that, when he'd been convinced of his own stupid pride and his own stupid ability, something he had stolen from Zack, something that didn't even belong to him at all. Tifa had been behind the bar, mixing him up a drink, twisting and moving the shaker around like it had been an art, or some kind of dance; he'd been enamored with her then, just as he's enamored with her now, but the movements and the ratios and all the tiny little things that go into making a good drink had never been lost on him. It's something fun, he thinks, and that may be why she enjoys it: creating something beautiful, just like the ruby drink she had poured out for him, one that reminded him distinctly of her eyes. He wants to be able to instill that sort of feeling in her, too; he wants her to sit with her chin in her hands, enjoying being served instead of always looking out for someone else.
It's a tall order, though, and he's long since drained himself of all that feigned confidence, all that boasting of skills that didn't even belong to him, in the end. In some ways, it's like he'd been drunk before, lost in fabricated memories that told a story that wasn't real; now, he's sobered up to the reality of his own shortcomings, though at times he still just wants to run away from them. Just like the stigma that throbs in his arm from time to time--it's a constant reminder of how little he's really managed to accomplish in life at all.
For Tifa, though, he'll try it--for Tifa, he'll bury himself in drink recipes and cocktails just to make her smile.
When her eyes connect with his again, one of his brows lifts in question. She's right, though: they are alone, and with another swallow, he falters, unsure of how to act. There aren't any kids waiting outside to bang on the doors and force them to leave, no helpful friends around to nag or nudge at him or embarrass him with stories. There isn't the risk of danger, or anything looming on the horizon but the lights of the Gold Saucer, almost hopeful in the way they twinkle in earnest. It's his chance, perfect and laid out for him--and, as always, he hesitates, as though uncertain that it's real.
His free hand stretches, moves almost timidly to touch at her cheek--it feels so stupid, the slow way he runs his thumb along her jaw, but the way his breath catches as he leans in is even stupider; his eyes close immediately, and he uses the brush of their noses to find her mouth with his, kissing her softly, gently, as though sure that she'll pull away. ]
[She feels silly the moment that she says it, sillier still when he moves, only because she isn't sure what she meant by it now that it's all happening. It feels too surreal, and perhaps that's the part that makes those words seem so trivial. The fact that they even need to be alone at all to share this with each other, after all these years—anyone else might look at them and scoff. She can hear Cid and Yuffie teasing them, Barret asking what took so long, and Vincent might simply roll his eyes. After all this, and all Tifa had to say was "we're alone" for it all to become real.
For her dreams to come crashing into her all at once—the same ones she's held onto since she was just a girl on top of a water tower.
They've been through too much not to, and she's silently scolding herself for waiting for too long.
But those thoughts are shoved away by the brush of his thumb along her jaw, and the sound of his breath catching like it's music to her ears. She freezes, like she's afraid that anything else will ruin this moment, that she'll awaken from all of this to find herself back in her bed in Edge with Cloud sound asleep next to her. Everything goes still except for the light flutter of her lashes and the even lighter brush of their noses.
It isn't as if this is the first time they've ever shared an intimate moment together. There were kisses on the cheek, the touches of their hands behind the bar, the lingering stares, and even quiet words exchanged in the dead of night... but this is new, unexplored territory for both of them. Sure, there might have been one in the booth, but this one... this is for real, with nothing to interrupt, no prying eyes, no kids to come bursting through the door...
Just Tifa, Cloud, and the twinkling lights outside.
She meets him halfway, her lips parting ever so slightly with eager anticipation, and her own breath catches in the moments before they touch, and it's so much sweeter than she could have ever imagined. For all the mako that pulses through his veins, for all the strength behind the man in front of her, he's careful. Gentle... His lips so surprisingly soft, more than she imagined, in the hundred times she went over how this first might go in her head.
Tifa's are tentative and shy and testing. She tips her head just so to press them a little more firmly to his, and her stomach gives a flutter, and her heart feels like it might soar, kept tethered in place only by the reticence in her movements. At some point through it all, she doesn't realize her hand has found his shoulder, her fingers digging lightly into his muscles as she clutches to him like she's afraid she might float away in this sudden, warm wave of bliss.
It's only with a smile that he'll be able to feel, and a breathy, happy laugh that she pulls away, but she maintains the closeness they've found.]
...
.... Cloud?
[She doesn't even know why she's saying his name, asking like it's a question, but it's like she's searching for something—a confirmation that this is really, truly what he wants.]
[ It isn't the way he expects it to go, either: mostly because he hadn't expected it would ever go at all.
How much of that is true, and how much of that is still rooted in the insecure wonderings of a boy hoping to make something of himself, hoping to be the sort of hero that a beautiful girl deserved? How much of that is his own ego, dragging him back, clawing him away from the one person he's wanted so badly, the one person that he's wanted to press himself up against in the darkest of moments? And how much of it is the stigma, burning beneath his sleeve, reminding him that he only has so long left to wonder these things?
Tifa's lips are soft, and warm, just like her skin: carefully, his thumb gives way to his fingertips, which gives way to the palm of his hand, and he cradles her jaw, there, slides down to take the side of her neck, underneath the curtain of her hair. For a long moment, there's only the kiss to think about, and the way it pulses blood through his body in a way that's both embarrassing and envigorating; it feels like so much time passes, and yet no time passes at all, and by the time that Tifa draws back, slightly, he can feel the shadow of her smile against his lips, even without it there.
He clears his throat, a little--it creaks, sounds a little rusty, and with a slight, embarrassed apology, his hand slides, drops down and folds itself, shyly, into her lap instead. ]
Yeah. [ It's the answer to her question: the way she always says his name, like she's wondering if he's truly there. Gently, he supplements it: ] It's just me. Just me, here.
[ Does that make it better, or worse? When he finally opens his eyes, there's Tifa's beautiful face, there, framed by the lights outside--and his chin ducks, embarrassed of the heat on his cheeks. ]
...Better than I expected. [ --is what he finally says, and there's just the faintest hint of a crooked smile, as he finally wills his blue-green gaze up to meet hers. ] Wow.
[Cloud's blues connect with hers, only for a second, but it's all Tifa needs to feel like she's succumbing to that clear, cerulean ocean tide that violently crashes into her. Like she's close to sinking deeper into it, and for once, she wouldn't mind. It's a lot to take in—all the little things he doesn't say in the way he looks at her, smiles for her, in the glistening of the fireworks in his eyes when they erupt outside their gondola for the first time that night...
And then everything that he does say out loud.
She's barely had the chance to catch her breath by the time he provokes a laugh out of her—or an amused huff that will tickle his face, and her hand fumbles away from his shoulder, falling to bump against his where it sits folded on her lap. Manicured nails glide ever so lightly over his wrist, across the exposed skin of his arm that slips out from beneath the sleeve hiding the stigma before she curls it over his, tight, as everything she's feeling coils up in the tips of her fingers.
Everything she's pent up for so, so many years. Her affection, anticipation, eagerness, all the things she was too shy or too afraid to tell him. It's hard not to let it all spill out of her now. Difficult to not lay them all out on the table, and to lay herself out bare for him to read at last, if only so that he could know with certainty that he's always had her attention but they've come this far. She doesn't want to scare him away now.
Tifa is blushing, though she's sure she's never stopped, but the way the lights, dim as they are, shine on them, she knows that it's painfully obvious because as she peers up at Cloud from beneath long, dark lashes, she sees that his cheeks have coloured to a pinkish hue too, mixed with the blues and greens of the fireworks bursting outside the gondola's window.]
... Wow to you, too.
[How many times has he left Tifa at a loss for words tonight? How many more will he, she muses to herself as she bites down, stopping her smile from spreading too wide. She's tipping her head again and brushing her lips over his, and it's far too tempting now that she's had a taste, but she's testing—wanting to see how far she can push before one of them shies away from it.]
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It's a memory that she can recall as if it had happened only yesterday. After everything that they had been through, it was that night of respite that she looks back on fondly.
Rather than look around the arcade herself, she finds that she's watching Cloud over her shoulder instead, and as his gaze roams around the arcade, she's mesmerized by how the blinking neon lights twinkle to heighten and highlight the green streaks within the blue of his eyes. It's such a small, simple thing, but she's always loved how bright and blue they are, bursting with colour.
It's the nudge to her shoulder that tumbles her back to the entrance of the arcade, and she darts her gaze forward, lips parting in silent surprise when she spots it. The fact that he's taking the initiative to choose one at all is surprising, yes, but it's the warm feeling that spreads from her chest up to rosy her cheeks that gets her most. Elation? Contentment? He's still trying, and she isn't going to waste a second to let him know just how excited she is about it.
Tifa takes the lead again, leading and weaving him through. She only appraises it for a beat before she climbs into the truck-shaped vehicle, and when Cloud joins her, she scoots over towards him. Even if the bench is long enough to comfortably fit at least one more body, she gets comfortable where her knees and shoulders touch his.]
You know how to shoot a gun?
[Picking up the red one, she aims it at the black screen in front of them but shoots her coy look to Cloud.]
Haven't tried myself, so I might need you to show me.
[As if this is anything close to a real one. She knows that they're uncomplicated, made of cheap plastic, but she's going to take this zombie (or is it ghost?) hunting game very seriously, she's decided.]
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With a glance, he looks at the interior of the game console, hidden behind a half of a curtain; Tifa ducks inside and makes herself comfortable, and warily, he follows in after her.
The bench is wide, surely comfortable enough for two people, but Tifa's hip presses up against his, the line of her leg mapped out with the line of his own, and when their knees touch, he feels his stomach flip, a strange, nervous churning that makes him want to move away. Any other time, and he would--it's polite to have space between them, but more than that, he wants Tifa to be comfortable, yet something in him says that it would be stupid to move away, and he doesn't. Their legs rub together and he looks at the screen, reading the game title with a face that says it's absolutely absurd: Midgar Mako Monsters, with some opening introduction video of strange oozing zombie-creatures, all in dated SOLDIER garb. His eyes roll over to Tifa.
There's a faint, tight-lipped smile on his face: ] They taught us all how to use them. At least I think they did. Back in Third Class.
[ His memories of that time are still--hazy, but ridiculously, his body knows what to do. He palms up the blue gun and tilts it in Tifa's direction, smoothing one of his fingers along the top of it to show her where the sight is. ]
Just try to line this up the best you can, and keep your hand steady. [ Surprisingly, there's a bit of amusement in his voice, as he tilts his head towards her, the end of his gun knocking almost playfully with hers. ] Luckily there's no kickback on the plastic models.
[ One of his hands goes down, feeling for the coin slot in front of them--then it's just a matter of paying for the both of them, and the game screen comes to life; the bench vibrates, a blast of cool air and loud, overbearing horror music coming from the devices above them in the console. There appears to be some sort of 'story' to the game, however silly--something about the mako reactors leaking into the piping of the Shinra building, infecting all the SOLDIERs there and turning them into zombie-like creatures; surprisingly, it doesn't bother him. It's not like he doesn't know what the mako makes him, anyway, and something like this--well, it isn't too far from what had happened anyway, in the end.
Still, Tifa will likely worry--he offers her a faint, sidelong smile. ]
Get ready. Here we go.
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[Tifa studies him, watches as his fingers coil around the gun, and she mimics his instructions and movements one by one. Finger on the trigger, lifting to aim—she probably has horrendous trigger discipline, never having held one in her life, and while it is just a silly game with sillier plastic guns that could break if she held them too tight, the idea of impressing and surprising Cloud with even a grain of skill in this game is what motivates her. Not that she has anything left to prove to him, but she'll do whatever she can to get one of those cheeky grins out of him. And as she lets the back of her hand graze his when he bumps the ends of their guns together, she's thankful for the washed-out colours on the screen as the game whirrs to life that mask the redness blossoming across her cheeks.
Diligently, she tries to listen to the speech, to the voice that sounds like it's trying too hard to be like the late President Shinra's, as he explains the purpose of the game. It's almost immediate, that twisting in her stomach; that sinking feeling that maybe this is a bad idea when it goes on about the mako leaks, and it transforming the people inside into "monsters". Just as he imagined it would, it hits a close to home that Tifa does worry, but when she casts that inevitable sideways glance of concern to Cloud, she sees that smile of his—although faint, it's still as bright as ever in her eyes—and it puts her at ease.
Once again, he proves how patient and how willing he is.
So, she lifts the barrel of the gun to eye level on his go, and as the truck's engine roars in the speakers surrounding them, the truck jerks, and it sends her reeling back on the bench, surprised, as it spits them out on the streets of Midgar—or what used to be Midgar—with Shinra's tower as the backdrop. Sirens blare, and spotlights bear down on the city as its low-poly citizens scream and run in that stiff way old video games tend to do as they run for their lives.
She can already feel her heartbeat quicken with anxiety and anticipation. Tifa is, admittedly, a bit of a scaredy-cat when it comes to the horror genre, jump-scares especially. Cloud will feel her move an inch closer, with the tension coiling up in every one of her muscles, with her knuckles turning white under her hold on the gun's grip.
It should have been expected. She should have seen it coming. Their very first zombie leaps out in front of the screen with a hiss with a speed uncharacteristic for being dead, and rather than shoot it, Tifa's shriek echoes through the console, and a hand drops from the gun to grab onto Cloud instead.]
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The monsters don't bother him, and admitting to himself that he nearly became exactly like the things that slither across the screen in the opening video just makes him shake his head. As always, it's easy enough to compartmentalize when he has other things to worry about; in fact, it's the sight of Midgar and the Shinra building that affects him more than the comparison of mako-zombies to the mako-drenched SOLDIERs that Shinra made themselves. It's been a long time: mostly those images live only in his memory, knitted together with all of their travels and the faces of all of their friends, and sometimes, looking at Edge, it feels like some sort of uncanny half-hearted reproduction, as though bits and pieces of Midgar remain, but twisted and changed out of proportion.
He's distracted enough that he doesn't realize how close Tifa is, and when the game finally gives up the ghost and a zombie leaps into the corner of the screen, he aims his plastic gun at it--but Tifa collides with him, shrieking, and he's distracted. There's the sound of its wailing call as it hits both sides of their screen; the health meters in the corner go down.
With an almost laugh, cursing under his breath, Cloud shoots at one zombie--and then the next one. Carefully, and wordlessly, he wraps his arm across Tifa's shoulders, pulling her in succinctly to his side. ]
Don't think I can take them all out alone. [ --is he actually making a joke? It feels like in the relative darkness of the little cabin of the game, he's capable of things that would otherwise make him cringe out in the daylight. Protecting Tifa is something that comes so naturally that he hardly thinks on it; keeping an arm around her to hold her out of danger is practically instinct. ] We've got this. Grab your gun.
kicks down the door!!! sorry for the delay 🥺💞
But the encouragement and patience in Cloud's voice still leaves her wanting to try harder, and as long as she's tucked away safe under his arm, there really is nothing to be scared of, is there? It's only a game, and she never did let him go into a fight alone if she could help it.]
You're right. [She turns to give him an appreciative, lopsided smile.] We've got this.
[So, it's with a new fire of conviction in her eyes, as if this were a real battle against real zombies, Tifa picks up her gun and holds it tight. There are still those flickers of fear behind those flames, and he'll feel her body stiffen every time the car rounds a corner in preparation for the next jump scare, the plastic of the gun cracking under the weight of her grip when she readjusts her fingers to shoot, and then the deflating that tension away when there's nothing there. They chug along that way for a little while, until...
She can hear the low groans coming from the speaker, and just as the box jerks—]
To the left!?
[Tifa raises the gun and pulls the trigger again, and again, and again... Managing to nail one of the three zombies that leap at them in the face. And when she tries again, it clicks.]
Huh? Out of bullets!? [This is supposed to be a horror fantasy game! Why in Ifrit's Infernal Balls is there a limit on bullets?] How do I—oh.
[She claps her hand against the bottom of the toy gun and with a loud click, she's given fifty more.]
no worries!! 💞
[ But she doesn't need the explanation, does she? The toy gun clicks and a new round is deposited onto the screen, and where Cloud had been reaching over with his good hand to help her, he moves away. The unfortunate byproduct, of course, is that with one arm around Tifa's shoulder, and the other hand reaching to help her, it leaves them woefully underprepared for the attack. He should know better--and he does know better, but somehow the urge to help Tifa always knocks his thoughts into a different sort of spiral. His priorities get mixed up in his head, when Tifa is involved; with a playful curse, he aims his gun back at the screen.
It doesn't seem to matter. The zombie lashes out at his side of the screen, despite Tifa's reload, and the hits double up on each other, staggering his health bar down. Somewhere amidst the dangerous, glowing red, he fires off a few shots; they take that one down, but two more appear, larger and more fierce than the others. It's some kind of 'boss fight', he thinks, a term he's only heard in passing from Denzel after time spent admiring the broken arcade games they'd managed to scrounge pieces of from the old Seventh Heaven. He takes another hit, and the screen flashes at him: YOU'RE DEAD! INSERT COIN!
A curse makes it past his lips again, half-frustrated, half-embarrassed. How could he let himself get taken down so easily? Granted, it's not like these games really rely on too much skill, but shouldn't he know better? And what is he supposed to do now? (What would Zack do?)
His gaze, nervous, flickers to Tifa--and then he relaxes against the back of the game seat, his head tilted to the side towards Tifa's shoulder as though lifeless. ]
... It's all you. [ --is what he says, mumbled, from lips that are supposed to be 'dead'. This works, right? Maybe she'll laugh? He hopes she'll laugh. ]
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Wait—
[He gives her little time to respond besides that when his head practically flops over onto her shoulder, and once the initial sting of that shock and confusion finally dulls, she realizes what's going on. Her teeth bite down on her lip to stifle a laugh, and it comes as an amused, very unladylike snort. She has half a mind to punch him in the arm and tell him to get up and try again, but there's no fun in not playing along. Or harm.
She gives him a small, light nudge on his shoulder, and she utters to him with as much bravado and drama she can muster through the adrenaline that's still pumping through her.]
Captain? Captain!? Noooo...
[Her head falls against him with peals of amused giggles, not quite registering how threateningly close she is to him until she's already red in the face and she can note how warm he is—]
I'll avenge you. Promise.
[She's forced to square her shoulders when the game reloads at the checkpoint before the "boss fight" that had taken all of Cloud's little hearts in the corner of the screen, with a newfound fire in her eyes again as she reloads the gun with so much gusto that she worries that she might have broken it. But if it's all up to her to win this—whatever "this" is—then she isn't about to let him down. Not Cloud.
However, when the monster leaps onto the screen again—she really should have expected it the second time around—that gusto is quick to dissipate, shot into the wind as she violently pulls the trigger after another startled yelp. Her body tenses up again, messing with her ability to aim, and she shoots and shoots until she's fresh out of bullets. The box wobbles violently again, and—
"YOU'RE DEAD! INSERT COIN!"
Tifa immediately deflates under Cloud's arm, and from between her knees, it spits out a small string of consolation tickets with an inappropriately happy jingle.]
Man... down...
[Her head falls against his shoulder and the gun clatters to the floor.]
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At least like this, he isn't really weighting her anything at all, is he? She's managing to do so well, well enough that he peeks one eye open to look at the screen--
--but the game gets the best of both of them, and he sees the lettering flash across the screen as the seat rumbles and then falls still; he tries not to smile, but Tifa slumps down against him and then it's like their heads are nearly touching, and he only realizes in that moment that his arm is still stretched out across her shoulders, cradling her in close. A part of him is acutely, terrifyingly, aware of his own breath, of the tickle of his unruly bangs near her forehead, and the beat of her breath, warm and light against him.
It's another moment where he knows he has to do something, he just can't quite figure out what would be best. There could be other people waiting for the game, after all, and if he carries Tifa's seemingly lifeless body out of the console, well, that would raise all sorts of questions.
With a chuckle, he swallows, tilting his head closer so that he can nudge the bridge of his nose along her forehead, bumping down against the tip of her nose with a gentle push. ]
Guess we're monsters now, too. [ His voice is a low, private murmur, with their heads so close. ] I'm guessing this isn't the sort of thing that...
[ A short clearing of his throat, embarrassed. ] ...that a kiss would fix, is it.
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There's a sharp edge to her breaths now, and the heat of it blending with his is almost unbearable when he closes in on her like that. She wants, so badly, to open her eyes and look at him, but there's something that compels her to keep them shut. It's not fear or embarrassment, but maybe a twinge of hope that if she remains perfectly still, she can draw out this familiar flutter in her chest for as long as possible.
But then he says those words, and she shifts, her lips parting ever so slightly in a subtle search for air.
A kiss...
It wouldn't be the most terrifying thing. They've shared lingering kisses on the cheek before, and had dared come a little too close any countless number of times, but it was never anything that they would dare utter out loud. They would never talk about it, but she's sure that they've thought about it each time her lips would brush with purpose against the corners of his only for her to pull back before either could act further on it.]
Huh...?
[She doesn't even register that she's mumbled it out loud, her brain slowly cranking to process it all. The sound of the game turns into background noise, muffled and distant and blending into everything else as her focus zeroes in on his breathing, and on her racing heartbeat when he bumps his nose affectionately on hers. It's only then that her eyes flutter open, her lashes sweeping over his cheeks.]
Doesn't hurt to try.
[Her voice is almost completely winded, light and breathless and nervous. She's tried to make it playful to match him, but she feels embarrassed at how strained with longing it sounded instead, and all of that mixed in with the fact that this is all because of an arcade game that's still chiming and roaring in the background...? She can't say this is how she imagined it would go, but then again, it was never about the how or where.
In spite of it all, Tifa finds that she leans in partway, only pausing to gasp when she feels the tingle of her lips brushing so lightly against his that she isn't sure they touched at all. But she has to pull back so that she can search his expression—find any sign that this is truly what he wants. That it wasn't just a silly joke that she fell for...
She gets so lost in searching through those deep blue pools that she hardly processes the voices coming from outside the box.]
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Even sleeping in the same room, beds apart, listening to the soft sound of her breath as the only thing to tempt him into sleep, at times: he's never had the gall to grab her around the waist, sweep her up and kiss her, like she deserves. Instead it's always been clumsy, foolish things, small kisses to the cheek or just brushing in close when he shouldn't have.
This, too, probably isn't a place that he should have proposed such a thing, but it's out of his mouth already and there's nothing that he can really do about it. As she tips her head in, his eyes fall shut, forced shut, knowing better than to stay staring at her while she comes closer. The touch of her lips against his is so soft he almost feels like he's imagining it; when he tilts his head in, slightly, he can feel their mouths connect, a warm brush that sends an electric bolt of nervous, attracted energy down to his toes.
It's there and gone again--when she pulls back, his eyes force open again, and he's left staring at her, awkward and silent.
Right. The game. There's someone politely knocking on the side of the game console, outside, and with a sheepish, throaty laugh, he shakes his head. ]
Too good to be true, huh. [ Being able to hide in that dark space, alone, that is. ] Come on. Let's go be undead monsters.
[ With the arm around her shoulders, he slides back, touching gently at her waist as though to help her down and out of the game ahead of him, following shortly after. The teenagers waiting there watch them, one of them elbowing the other; whispers of aren't those mako eyes uttered between them. Cloud puts his arm around Tifa's back, guiding her further away before she has time to hear it--and pity him.
With a faint smile, he nods towards the rest of the arcade. ] What next? Want a stuffed animal? They have those claw machines.
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It's his next question that pulls Tifa free, along with the whirring of a machine as they pass it by, as if it's trying to get her attention with its dinging and blinking lights, but she turns to Cloud as if she'd just been woken by a sudden noise or worse, a splash of ice-cold water over her. And even then, all she can think about is the blissful three seconds they shared in the booth.
Her eyes dart to his lips, and she only just barely registers that he's asking her a question before—]
Cloud...
[His name spills ruefully out of her in that "really?" pitch, before she can stop it, and it winds her, her breath catching as her heart leaps up into her throat. After all that...
Slowly, her head turns to the claw game he's gestured to, and everything finally comes into focus. A gradual smile blossoms on her face, and she bites down on her lip. Several seconds of silence follows as Tifa tries to center herself again, and as disappointed as she is that the moment was pulled right out from under her feet, Cloud is still trying his best to help ease that wire of tension that she feels is about ready to snap. They'll just have to find another opportunity.
He'll feel her shoulders rise and fall in a sigh before she twirls back to him.]
Actually... I hear the gondolas are up and running again...
[After Meteorfall, the Gold Saucer had shut down for not only repairs, but improvements, and from what she read in the papers after their grand reopening, they were still the talk of the place.]
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And what does he have to show, really, for the amount of time that's passed? The world has certainly changed, and its people have changed, and maybe, in some small ways, he's changed, too: there are people that he might call his friends, now, and there's a life that he's supposed to living, a business that's thriving in the era of reconstruction, where everyone needs goods delivered, and a beautiful girl who sleeps in the same room with him and looks at him over the counter of the bar and smiles like she means it, like everything can be okay someday, and he doesn't know whether that's a lie he wants to believe in or something that he needs to cut off before he hurts her.
But when they'd rode the gondola, there hadn't really been any of that fear, and there hadn't been that desire to rip himself out of Tifa's life just to make sure that she would keep on living, safe and sound, without him there to mess things up. It had been exciting to be along with her, despite everything--and maybe that's something they can get back. A moment of privacy, a moment without anyone else interrupting--he swallows, gives a short nod, and slides his arm down, keeping just a careful hand at the back of her waist as though to pull her out of harm's way should anything cross their path. ]
Let's do that, then. Sounds like a nice way to round out the evening.
[ Even in the reconstruction, there are still so many colorful, bold signs pointing this way and that, instructing guests how to get to all the different places in the Gold Saucer; it doesn't take much to lead Tifa out from the bustling lights and constant sounds of the arcade, ducking through the doorway to put them outside again, on a path to head up to where the gondola ride begins. It's not too long of a walk, really, but his gaze travels down the length of her before he realizes he's being rude--and he clears his throat, nodding ahead of them, this time. ]
...Let me know if you want me to carry you the rest of the way. [ It's teasing: she's not that weak, and has way more practice in heels than he does; but he thinks maybe, this might crack a smile out of her, and his eyes stay resolutely focused on the path ahead of them. ] Like if your feet hurt, I mean.
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Only if my feet hurt?
[She playfully retorts back, but like him, Tifa keeps her eyes trained elsewhere, as if she were trying to take in every little detail of the scenery as she can as they cross through the main hall of the Gold Saucer when really, she's simply trying her best to keep them from him. From landing for too long on his lips or making eye contact with him when she wouldn't know what to do with herself when she did.
But is it so strange that, after everything, the thought of it sends a tingle up her spine? So strange that she can't look him in the eye because she can feel her cheeks heating with colour again? Her feet aren't bothering her and likely never will, but the idea of being scooped up into Cloud's arms and carried off into the gondola, or back to their room is...
Tifa is quick to cut the thought off with a sharp sigh, lest she get too carried away and her imagination runs from her again.]
I'll keep that in mind, [she finally says, not so cleverly, but with a light, nervous tremble to her voice.
Fortunately, the walk to the gondola isn't long, but throughout, she can sense the buzz that lingers—or it could just be that she's the one imagining it on her own as she lets her arm slip around him, her fingers blindly searching for his until they only just barely brush over them. But as they walk among so many other couples, she wonders what it might be like to snatch it and take it in hers instead, just as she sees the girl in front of them do that very same thing, and so naturally, too.
Do the others think of Cloud and Tifa as another pair just like them, she wonders? Do they look like they could be, while all of them remain clueless to the violent flutters of nervous energy that's eating away at Tifa from the inside? Clueless to how, in spite of how she's tucked so comfortably beneath his arm, she has no idea what else to say or do right now.
Which is why it's both a relief and a surprise when they reach the gondolas to find the lineup nearly non-existent. They're moving through people quickly, getting new riders off and then on before the next rolls along. He may feel her stiffen at his side when they reach the attendant, and it's as if all of the blinking lights and the sounds have been turned up to ten as her nerves light up and her stomach does a dozen and some somersaults.
She always prided herself in being comfortable. Confident. Sure. But as the door slides open, she finds herself inconceivably nervous that she suddenly blurts out:]
A-After you—!
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In some ways, too, he almost resents the couples around them, the ones cozying up while the line moves, the ones that kiss each other's cheeks like it means nothing, touch each other like they've never had much of a worry in the world, like they haven't had to pay for this crumbling sense of peace with their own blood and tears--but he shouldn't. They saved the world so that things like this could happen: so that people could still live their lives to the fullest. He should be doing that too, shouldn't he?
The guy with his girlfriend, two couples up, slips his hand down from around her waist and grabs, lightly, at the back of her skirt--embarrassed, Cloud skirts his gaze away.
Maybe he shouldn't be that bold. Maybe--maybe not like that yet.
Disgruntled, he urges Tifa a little closer to his side, almost protective; still, they make short work of the line, and sooner than he realizes, they're up next. Tifa feels so nervous, almost trembling with it, and when the doors open, she urges him to go in first. He only has a split second to react--they have to get inside quickly, otherwise the gondola will likely continue on without them--and rather than duck his head in, embarrassed, like he wants to, he loops both arms around Tifa's waist and lifts her off her feet, stepping forward.
Breathless, he plants her down inside the gondola--the staff member shuts the door after him, and with a little jerk, the cabin starts to move. Did he really do that? Did he really--he's still doing it, isn't he?
He hasn't pulled his arms back; Tifa is so close that he can see the eyeshadow spread on her lids, the wet purse of her lips, the slight flutter of her lashes, and he swallows, letting out a wry, choked sort of chuckle. ]
...Want to sit down? You probably do.
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It's his grin and his smooth laugh that vibrates through her bones that draws her mind back to Cloud, and into the gondola before it can stray too far again. She blinks in a stunned silence, before she registers his question and her gaze drifts to the small one-seater behind him, trying not to focus too hard on how his chuckle tickles the skin on her cheek or how his arms remain circled around her waist.]
Yeah... I think so.
[Her own voice quivers with that same nervous energy that she's been harbouring since they kissed briefly inside that arcade game compartment. It's like an electrical storm that's been stirring, brewing slowly as they made their way across the Gold Saucer from the arcade to the gondolas. The ripples of warmth that radiated off him, the twitch of the muscles in his fingers against her hip, his sharp breaths that somehow found their way to her ears, the way the green rings of mako in his eyes shimmered whenever they connected with hers—each one fed into it until finally, it was ready to burst and scatter across the skies.
Tifa can feel herself growing hot as she carefully—and slowly—slides away from him to take the seat. Her fingers curl over the edges of the cushioned walnut bench, her perfectly manicured nails going almost white as they dig into the wood where all that anxious energy is being funneled to. Briefly, she glances out the window to gather herself, closing her eyes to take in a breath through her nose. When she opens them, they journey up the entire length of Cloud's body before her gaze rests on his through her dark lashes, and her face flushes with new colour.]
Sit with me?
[The bench is only made for one, meant for those riding the gondola to sit across from each other, likely for easier conversation, but she doesn't want that. Not like last time, when there had been such a vast rift between them, both physically and emotionally, that she hasn't forgotten since.
Tonight, she wants to be close, and she's made some space next to her as she squeezes up near the window.]
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When she looks back up at him again, he meets her gaze briefly, before looking out the window: already, the lights of the other rides and sections of the Gold Saucer are coming into focus, glorious and glittering around the windows, and he can remember the sights from their last ride, and feeling overwhelmed in just the same way. Nibelheim had never been this bright, and even Midgar had more of an eerie glow to it than this--vibrant colors, twinkling lights, music and sounds fading in and out from the events below them. It feels surreal in a way, surreal in the same way that Tifa asks him to sit next to her and he glances, surprised, to the other empty bench.
Last time they had ridden, they had sat across from each other--as intended. Tonguing at the inside of his cheek, he barely has to question it; he nods, slightly, and shifts slowly so that he can ease himself onto the bench next to her. To take up less space, he turns more onto his side, one arm stretching out along the back of the bench, behind her shoulders, while the other hand falls into his lap. ]
...It feels sort of like an alien world, doesn't it? [ He says it after a long moment, looking past Tifa's profile to the lights and sights beyond the window; there's a faint smile, there and gone again, before he looks at her again. ] With the way things went... I never really thought I'd see something like this again.
[ But that's the resilience of all the people, isn't it? The way that everyone managed to bounce back from tragedy: everyone, except him. ]
How do you...feel? [ They're so close that he can feel how warm Tifa is, against his side; part of him wants to reach for her hand, but instead, his own ends up brushed near one of her knees, touching it lightly as though in reassurance. ] Being back here, I mean. It's...nice?
[ He's guessing. ]
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It gives her pause, and Tifa's lips press together. It's crazy to think how life-changing events can skew one's sense of time. He brings it up, and it takes Tifa back again to all those years ago. The memory itself is still as clear and vivid in her head as if it were just yesterday they sat in a gondola just like this, and the colours of the fireworks splashed across his face and highlighted the green rings of mako in his eyes, and Tifa stumbled over what she wished were a confession back then... How different would things be if they'd gone differently...?]
... A little strange.
[With the finality in her tone, it sounds as if that's the end of her thought, but she takes in a deep, steadying inhale and lets her eyes drift back to the window, out to the lights that are gradually becoming twinkling specks below as they make the climb higher.]
But I'm feeling... really good right now. [Even if the awkward friction that's buzzing inside her and around them continues to claw at her nerves.] Better than I've been in a while.
[And it isn't just because knowing that all of this was rebuilt by the hands of those too resilient and too strong to succumb to the despair that settled over Gaia after Meteor—although yes, that certainly plays some part in the fluttery feeling in her heart—it's so much bigger than that. For her tiny, frail soul, that is. Her hand finds his knee in turn and slowly, it moves up an inch where she gives his leg a light squeeze, her face growing redder.]
Still doesn't feel like it was that long ago, though.
[A breathy laugh frees itself, and Tifa wishes it would take some of that tension in her shoulders with it.
The last time they were together, alone like this was that night beneath the Highwind, but they still had the fate of the world resting over their heads, but not anymore, and the fond memory has her leaning towards him, her body unconsciously seeking warmth.]
It is little more crowded than I was expecting, but... I don't mind this kind. Guess a lot of people had the same idea.
[There sure were plenty of couples to look at down below.]
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His hand, twitching, grips over the seat of the gondola. She's trying so hard, too, and he should at least be meeting her halfway, shouldn't he? Forcing himself to talk is one thing, something that he hasn't done in such a long time, with the way their lives have turned out; being physically present with her is something else entirely. Usually he's a half a world away, trapped in his own memories, too subdued to really force himself to recognize what's happening around him.
His fingers curl into a fist and then, patient, flex back out again, before he lets his arm slide down.
There isn't much room there, between Tifa's back and the back of the seat, so it's awkward, but when his fingers ghost against her slender waist, he knows he's done something, finally, put some effort forward into it all; with a careful squeeze, he encourages her in closer to his side, keeping his eyes trained pointedly on the lights and sights outside. He doesn't want to look at her expression; he isn't sure what he'd find there. ]
...A good date spot. Or whatever.
[ He's trying, okay.
His lips curl up, deprecating and almost playful, but he finally wills himself to look down at her: ]
Better than trying to take a girl out to her own bar. Guess I could stand to learn a few things. [ And then, looking away just as quick-- ] For the next date, anyway.
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It could be instinct that makes her slide closer—as close as she can get without pressing him right up against the side of the gondola, but close enough that she feels his warmth immediately wrap around to envelop her, a wave of heat descending over her skin with it. It's such a small, cramped space made even tinier by their closeness, and she swears that if she isn't careful, she might just spontaneously combust on the spot.
Tifa lets her eyes move to sneak a glance at him as he keeps his own out the window, and it isn't until he speaks that she remembers she's staring, or that her thumb is digging into the inner side of his leg, and she tries to pull her gaze away in time, but he's already looking at her. The pulsing rings of green in his eyes and that crooked, boyish smile of his captures Tifa, holds her captive until he steals them away again, leaving her to flutter her lashes up at him in surprise at what he has to say.]
... Next date?
[As if this is brand new news to her, which shouldn't be surprising given the direction this one seems to be going in, but it's hard to mask it, even as that initial surprise fades into a smile.]
What sort of spots do you have in mind? [Quickly, she adds:] I wouldn't say no to Seventh Heaven, you know.
[Cloud could take her anywhere and she's sure that she would be just as happy, but she doesn't think a night in would be so bad, either.]
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There's a faint swallow, his throat bobbing with it, but faced with the questions, he isn't sure what to say. There had been plenty of places he'd seen, in their travels, thinking idly that being alone with Tifa at them, instead of surrounded by their friends, would have made for a good time; there had been beautiful places, quiet places, places that he'd seen Tifa smile at that he thinks maybe she would have enjoyed, too. There are, of course, places that he'll never return to, and places that he knows she'd never ask him to: he isn't particularly keen about returning to Mideel so soon, and of course, places that remind him of the Ancients are out of the question, no matter their lonely beauty.
So, it's with a faint, heartful sort of chuckle that he admits: ] I'd just like somewhere we can be alone, I think.
[ And that might be too much for a second date, and that might be admitting too much; wistfully, his gaze continues to focus on the lights past the window, wondering. ]
Especially if...If we can't find a way to... [ It's not the sort of thing to talk about on a date, no matter the validity--he swallows again, finds his hand is gripping Tifa's side just as much as her hand clutched at his leg. ] I want to take you somewhere you don't...feel like you have to work, too.
[ There's a hint of humor in his voice. ] But if you want it to be Seventh Heaven, then you're going to have to let me be the one behind the bar.
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And when he finally does, her heart soars, leaping up into her throat until she feels she might accidentally spit out any one of the hundreds of butterflies that are sent into a frenzy in the pit of her stomach. Immediately, she recalls the last night they had been alone together, up north when she had insisted she join him on a delivery just so she could spend more time with him. She missed him, and deep down somewhere in the depths of her desires, she hoped it would turn into a "date", but it never felt that way. It was just another job still, and Tifa was there for the ride.
This, on the other hand...
She draws herself out of that with a sharp intake of breath, and a different sort of flush in her face as she echoes his laugh.]
Think you got what it takes, huh? Remind me to put you to the test anyway.
[Regardless of what they call it, and honestly? Even if it weren't a date, she's eager now to see what Cloud could do behind the bar. What he's learned from her over the years of running the place together. She tries to imagine it, and it stirs a heartfelt giggle from her that she buries behind a hand and her hair as it tumbles over across her shoulder and in front of her face.
It dies away, fades into a sigh again, and the rubies in her eyes glimmer with newly sparked anticipation as they look around at the four walls of the gondola that surround them, and as she listens to the distant noises of the Gold Saucer below.
Alone... Is that really what he wants?
Eventually, her eyes will connect with his again as they wander back, but she can't quite bring herself to look directly into them as she shifts in the seat at his side.]
... We're alone now, you know...
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It's a tall order, though, and he's long since drained himself of all that feigned confidence, all that boasting of skills that didn't even belong to him, in the end. In some ways, it's like he'd been drunk before, lost in fabricated memories that told a story that wasn't real; now, he's sobered up to the reality of his own shortcomings, though at times he still just wants to run away from them. Just like the stigma that throbs in his arm from time to time--it's a constant reminder of how little he's really managed to accomplish in life at all.
For Tifa, though, he'll try it--for Tifa, he'll bury himself in drink recipes and cocktails just to make her smile.
When her eyes connect with his again, one of his brows lifts in question. She's right, though: they are alone, and with another swallow, he falters, unsure of how to act. There aren't any kids waiting outside to bang on the doors and force them to leave, no helpful friends around to nag or nudge at him or embarrass him with stories. There isn't the risk of danger, or anything looming on the horizon but the lights of the Gold Saucer, almost hopeful in the way they twinkle in earnest. It's his chance, perfect and laid out for him--and, as always, he hesitates, as though uncertain that it's real.
His free hand stretches, moves almost timidly to touch at her cheek--it feels so stupid, the slow way he runs his thumb along her jaw, but the way his breath catches as he leans in is even stupider; his eyes close immediately, and he uses the brush of their noses to find her mouth with his, kissing her softly, gently, as though sure that she'll pull away. ]
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For her dreams to come crashing into her all at once—the same ones she's held onto since she was just a girl on top of a water tower.
They've been through too much not to, and she's silently scolding herself for waiting for too long.
But those thoughts are shoved away by the brush of his thumb along her jaw, and the sound of his breath catching like it's music to her ears. She freezes, like she's afraid that anything else will ruin this moment, that she'll awaken from all of this to find herself back in her bed in Edge with Cloud sound asleep next to her. Everything goes still except for the light flutter of her lashes and the even lighter brush of their noses.
It isn't as if this is the first time they've ever shared an intimate moment together. There were kisses on the cheek, the touches of their hands behind the bar, the lingering stares, and even quiet words exchanged in the dead of night... but this is new, unexplored territory for both of them. Sure, there might have been one in the booth, but this one... this is for real, with nothing to interrupt, no prying eyes, no kids to come bursting through the door...
Just Tifa, Cloud, and the twinkling lights outside.
She meets him halfway, her lips parting ever so slightly with eager anticipation, and her own breath catches in the moments before they touch, and it's so much sweeter than she could have ever imagined. For all the mako that pulses through his veins, for all the strength behind the man in front of her, he's careful. Gentle... His lips so surprisingly soft, more than she imagined, in the hundred times she went over how this first might go in her head.
Tifa's are tentative and shy and testing. She tips her head just so to press them a little more firmly to his, and her stomach gives a flutter, and her heart feels like it might soar, kept tethered in place only by the reticence in her movements. At some point through it all, she doesn't realize her hand has found his shoulder, her fingers digging lightly into his muscles as she clutches to him like she's afraid she might float away in this sudden, warm wave of bliss.
It's only with a smile that he'll be able to feel, and a breathy, happy laugh that she pulls away, but she maintains the closeness they've found.]
...
.... Cloud?
[She doesn't even know why she's saying his name, asking like it's a question, but it's like she's searching for something—a confirmation that this is really, truly what he wants.]
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How much of that is true, and how much of that is still rooted in the insecure wonderings of a boy hoping to make something of himself, hoping to be the sort of hero that a beautiful girl deserved? How much of that is his own ego, dragging him back, clawing him away from the one person he's wanted so badly, the one person that he's wanted to press himself up against in the darkest of moments? And how much of it is the stigma, burning beneath his sleeve, reminding him that he only has so long left to wonder these things?
Tifa's lips are soft, and warm, just like her skin: carefully, his thumb gives way to his fingertips, which gives way to the palm of his hand, and he cradles her jaw, there, slides down to take the side of her neck, underneath the curtain of her hair. For a long moment, there's only the kiss to think about, and the way it pulses blood through his body in a way that's both embarrassing and envigorating; it feels like so much time passes, and yet no time passes at all, and by the time that Tifa draws back, slightly, he can feel the shadow of her smile against his lips, even without it there.
He clears his throat, a little--it creaks, sounds a little rusty, and with a slight, embarrassed apology, his hand slides, drops down and folds itself, shyly, into her lap instead. ]
Yeah. [ It's the answer to her question: the way she always says his name, like she's wondering if he's truly there. Gently, he supplements it: ] It's just me. Just me, here.
[ Does that make it better, or worse? When he finally opens his eyes, there's Tifa's beautiful face, there, framed by the lights outside--and his chin ducks, embarrassed of the heat on his cheeks. ]
...Better than I expected. [ --is what he finally says, and there's just the faintest hint of a crooked smile, as he finally wills his blue-green gaze up to meet hers. ] Wow.
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And then everything that he does say out loud.
She's barely had the chance to catch her breath by the time he provokes a laugh out of her—or an amused huff that will tickle his face, and her hand fumbles away from his shoulder, falling to bump against his where it sits folded on her lap. Manicured nails glide ever so lightly over his wrist, across the exposed skin of his arm that slips out from beneath the sleeve hiding the stigma before she curls it over his, tight, as everything she's feeling coils up in the tips of her fingers.
Everything she's pent up for so, so many years. Her affection, anticipation, eagerness, all the things she was too shy or too afraid to tell him. It's hard not to let it all spill out of her now. Difficult to not lay them all out on the table, and to lay herself out bare for him to read at last, if only so that he could know with certainty that he's always had her attention but they've come this far. She doesn't want to scare him away now.
Tifa is blushing, though she's sure she's never stopped, but the way the lights, dim as they are, shine on them, she knows that it's painfully obvious because as she peers up at Cloud from beneath long, dark lashes, she sees that his cheeks have coloured to a pinkish hue too, mixed with the blues and greens of the fireworks bursting outside the gondola's window.]
... Wow to you, too.
[How many times has he left Tifa at a loss for words tonight? How many more will he, she muses to herself as she bites down, stopping her smile from spreading too wide. She's tipping her head again and brushing her lips over his, and it's far too tempting now that she's had a taste, but she's testing—wanting to see how far she can push before one of them shies away from it.]
Why did it take us so long?
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slides back into your inbox... i'm so sorry for taking eternity 😭
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